


Nothing Worth Having Comes Easy

by ribbonelle



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonelle/pseuds/ribbonelle
Summary: His relationship with Ironhide was one of the best things he had going on in his life. Until now.
Relationships: Ironhide/Wasp
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Nothing Worth Having Comes Easy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercuryMapleKey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryMapleKey/gifts).



> god this was a birthday fic for niki in FEBRUARY so you know i'm focking....late.   
> anyways. niki wanted hanahaki and serious angst so be...warned  
> if i've made mistakes throughout, please tell me

His first real friend was Ironhide. That was undeniable. He has met many mechs in his lifetime, from neighbors to classmates to fleeting strangers that took the same admission exam as him. None left a lasting impression. Not like Ironhide. 

He truly had only been trying to impress the guy. Said things that Ironhide would want to hear, acted like a cool mech instead of the middle class mini that he actually was. Ironhide didn't shoo him away immediately; that was a win. But it wasn't till Wasp accidentally whisper-gasped an 'Oh _frag_ me that's a Combatatron 500' at the sight of the brand new, military grade training equipment during their camp tour that Ironhide laughed, the sound too loud and goofy and happy.

Sentinel Prime reprimanded him for it, and Ironhide quickly apologized. But when Wasp glanced at Ironhide a little later on, he found the mech already grinning at him, his optics bright with amusement. Mech had a dent in his chin that got deeper when he smiled, and it had no right being there, Wasp thought. Later, Ironhide told him that the Combatatron 500s were really cool and he couldn't wait to pummel or be pummeled by one, and they were true friends ever since. 

Well. Not that Wasp hadn't thought of Ironhide being too outdated for him at some points, or too simple. But then Ironhide would come up with a training tip, or a snarky remark, or have a glint in his eye that reminded Wasp why they remained to be friends for so long. They were on a similar wavelength, someway or another. They clicked. 

And then, the impossible happened. 

/

He couldn't believe it. They really thought he was a Decepticon. It was like white noise; Wasp was _sure_ someone was going to yell ‘Cut!’ and laugh and tell him that this entire thing was a prank. This couldn’t possibly be happening. 

“Take him away. Decepticon scum.” Sentinel spat, and suddenly he was being apprehended by mechs, his arms wrested and held behind him. The click of stasis cuffs around his wrists snapped him out of his reverie, and Wasp felt panic set in _hard_. 

“What are you-no! It’s not me! It really isn’t me, stop it!”

They shook him, hard and jarring, the force causing a hitch in Wasp’s vocalizer, shutting him right up. 

“No. Wait,” Ironhide’s voice felt far away, a small sound piercing through the static in Wasp’s processor, “Prime. I don’t think he’s a Decepticon.”

"Stand down, cadet. We have evidence."

"I spend most of my time here with Wasp. I would have noticed if he was hiding something like this, Sarge. We can't send the wrong mech away."

"I know it's a difficult thing to find out that your friend is a traitor, Ironhide, but-"

“ _No._ Bumblebee. How did you get his key? Did you steal it?”

A blur of yellow as Bumblebee waved his arms in denial, “No! It was on him and I just took it, because I knew that--”

“Who _told_ you? Who told you it was in his locker?”

The gravity of the situation was sinking in. Wasp was going to purge. He was listening, but the dread was growing heavier and heavier in his spark. What would they do to him? Send him to the stockades? But they had no proof. He _wasn't_ a traitor. 

Was he?

"Longarm. He-"

Ironhide's tone was dangerous; Wasp had never heard him sound this way, but Wasp wasn't really in the state of mind to properly notice, "How did you know, Longarm?" 

"Calm down, Ironhide. I know that you are friends, this must be hard-"

" _Answer the question._ "

"Okay! Okay, all of you, stand _down,_ ” Sentinel’s voice was louder than all of them, and there was a tinge of doubt in there, enough that Wasp turned his head to look, “What the frag is wrong with this year’s intake?! All of you, get in the brig!” There was protest from whoever was handling Wasp, but Sentinel cut them off, “It’s too convenient. Ironhide has a point. But at this stage, I don’t trust any of these slaggers. I’ll lodge in a formal request for Perceptor to be here, or anyone who could run a full processor scan on these cadets, and we’ll catch our Decepticon then. I don’t want to be responsible for locking up the wrong mech.”

Everything after that was a blur. Wasp tried his best to focus, but it was a cacophony of raised voices, the sharp, high sound of primed blasters, and then he was moved again. The flash of red plating in his periphery indicated that it was the guard that cuffed him, and Wasp’s panic set in again. 

But he was wheeled away from the transporter and away from the other mechanisms, deeper into the camp, and somehow it felt like he wasn’t entirely doomed. He wasn’t sure. But he was still on solid ground, he was _not_ on the way to the stockades. That had to count for something, right?

Ironhide helped him, somehow. He knew that much. Ironhide stood up for him. Despite the mech’s reasons, Ironhide said _something_.

Wasp was brought to the facility’s brig, instead. His wrists were uncuffed and he was dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. 

The first thing he did was rush to the solitary washracks. Everything he had felt in the past joor was catching up to him, and he _had_ to purge. So he did.

Hunched over the cleaning station, Wasp heaved desperately. He couldn't remember ever throwing up like this, but it was as if he was rejecting everything that had happened to him. He was crying. He was in shock and disbelief and _relief_ , and it felt as if he was going to puke himself out of existence.

Something touched his back and he jolted, optics flashing in fear. But he noticed the orange plating from his periphery, and relaxed. It was just Ironhide. Ironhide, who saved his fucking life.

He was shaking, and Ironhide's touch was grounding.

"It's okay, mech. You're fine.” 

"Get the frag out of there, cadet! I said separate cells!"

The hand disappeared and Wasp immediately missed it, needing the solid touch, but he heard the static buzzing behind him then, the plasma barrier of his cell activated. Different voices around him, and Wasp tuned all of it out, overwhelmed with whatever was happening inside him. 

He threw up again, and something solid slid out of his oral intake right into the sink. He coughed, the bulk of it having irritated the lining of his throat tubing, and he didn’t stop coughing for a while. 

His vision was blurry. He didn't reset his optics, he didn't want to see his shame. Something was weird whatever came out of him anyway; bright yellow and black. He had never been put in stasis inducing magnalocks before, the side effects seemed extreme.

It was fine. He shoved himself away from the cleaning station and slumped against the wall. First time in the brig, too. But this was much better than being carted off to actual prison. He knew he wasn't a Decepticon. That had to be enough.

Right?

He switched his optics off. Ironhide was in a cell nearby. That made him feel better.

/

Longarm had disappeared the next day. A guard was decommissioned, the protoform of their throat gouged out. 

Everyone else was sent home for an indefinite amount of time.

/

Wasp enjoyed politics.

More so than he thought he would when he was a cadet; there was power in being a part of the Elite Guard. Power that suited him, authority that he could use.

The only thing he hated was the damn celebrations. Government etiquette was the most annoying thing he had ever known, and yet he adhered to it every time. He was forced to. Just because he had to show up to these things, it didn't mean he had to like it. 

This particular dinner was in honor of Kup Minor, who was finally retiring. 

"Your faceplates are gonna be stuck like that if you keep frownin', you know?"

Finally. Decent company. Wasp turned around and was greeted by shiny, orange plating. He recalibrated his optics and finally set eyes on Ironhide, his long-time friend grinning at him, "That's what I'm hoping for. Just properly integrate my resting bitch face program. How was Sperity?"

"It was fine. Not that exciting, but we beat the slag out of two Decepticon squadrons," Ironhide lifted his knuckles to his face, and blowed imaginary dust off of it, "Nothing amazing."

Momentary pause, before he perked up, "Oh, wait. I got you a souvenir."

A small crystal keychain, double helices intertwined. It was very pretty, the beautiful sheen reminiscent of the planet it came from. Wasp already had quite the collection with all of the trinkets Ironhide brought back for him. Another one to the mix, then. 

The night continued on accordingly. A toast from Highbrow, a few speeches. It was an off day for government staff the next day, and as Cybertronians do, mechs were getting deep into the high grade. Both Wasp and Ironhide had idle conversation, taking some time to converse with other mechanisms that they worked with that came by to say hello.

Wasp did his obligatory rounds, spoke to his superiors and some other mechanisms he might have to work with in the near future, and decides he was done socializing for the moment. The balcony was usually the safest bet to get away from people without actually leaving; Wasp have been to too many of these to know some tricks; it was a large enough space to feel alone even with others standing around.

He chose a spot a little farther away from the main doors heading back inside, away from sight, and looked out onto the cityscape. To be able to have this view whenever he wanted...Wasp considered himself lucky. 

And of course, just like always, Ironhide joined him soon after. That was also something Wasp was used to, they always did this whenever they both attended the same event. Ironhide wordlessly handed him a treat, and Wasp took it. They both stood there in comfortable silence for a moment, and Wasp basked in the contentment he felt. 

He had a nice life. He was getting closer and closer to his career goals, and he had great companionship. Despite being a minibot, despite everything that had happened in his past, Wasp was satisfied. 

He looked over at Ironhide, ready to start up a conversation.

It was corny as hell, but they've programmed the Metroplex to pulse soft pastel light, the colors of Kup Minor's squadron. By all rights, yellow and blue was a clashing color scheme, Wasp had always thought their flag to be too damn bright but right now...

The glow of yellow cast over Ironhide's plating made him transfixed. He was haloed by the light from this angle, and Wasp had never really realized how sharp his side profile was. Handsome. He'd always _known,_ but...

The yellow glow darkened and transitioned into blue just as Ironhide looked at him, and somehow Ironhide's optics were so bright, almost too bright to look at. 

Wasp felt sick. 

He was going to be _sick_ , his tanks were roiling and it felt like the internal lining of his throat tubing was on fire, and Wasp clamped a hand over his mouth, already moving away, "Excuse me. I've got to-"

There was no delaying it. Wasp rushed out of the balcony to the nearest washroom, gagging. He was going to throw up, but somehow it felt like there was more than just fuel creeping up his tract, like there was something else.

He checked his surroundings quickly once he barged into the bathroom, and reached for the sink right away. He heaved, and felt the blockage in his throat slide forward. Wasp coughed out of his own volition, trying to force the thing out and he spat whatever it was that was sticking to his tongue as much as he could.

Wasp wasn't in the habit of inspecting everything that came out of him; frag, he naturally wasn't a mechanism who caught a bad line of coding often, but for some reason this felt different than anything he was familiar with. He hunched over even more, still trying to dislodge the thing in his throat, and noticed that the piece that came out of him was...purple.

It was drenched with oral lubricant and looked too foreign; it was something that Wasp would never knowingly ingest. Was it something he had produced? Was such a thing even possible for mechanisms? An old folks tale made its appearance in Wasp's processor, but he wasn't in the right state of mind to even consider that possibility. Frustrated now, he opened his mouth wide and stuck his fingers inside, trying to coax the obstruction out of him, whatever it was.

His fingertips brushed something soft and flimsy, something clustered together close and tight, and it triggered his gag reflex again. What in Unicron's name was-

He vomited it up. It was large, something that made his optics reset too many times to count, that made his protoform crawl.

Something organic. Flora? It was wet with oral solvent, but it was bright and pink, like spilled energon. It was _alien_ , and Wasp felt like purging all over again at the thought of something like this inside him, but-

Surely the myth was just a myth.

He waited a few more minutes to see if something else would come out of him, but his stomach seemed to have settled down. He checked himself over for any sign of distress; was satisfied enough by how he looked to leave the washrooms, and returned to Ironhide’s side.

Ironhide was talking to someone else at the balcony, one of his teammates. The tall medic; Red Alert? Wasp knew all of them by name of course, not that he had made acquaintances with any of them, but it was courtesy to know his best friend’s colleagues, especially since they worked under the same organisation. His best friend’s teammates. His best friend. 

Ironhide noticed him and raised a glass at him in acknowledgment. Red Alert turned around and smiled at him too, raising her glass. Wasp wasn’t holding anything in his hands, so he nodded instead, and slowly made his way towards them. 

On the way, he ran into Cliffjumper and conveniently struck up a conversation with them. Ironhide was definitely waiting for him to be by his side again. Wasp would go to him eventually, but not yet. He talked to this mechanism he hadn’t talked to in months, and hoped, and hoped, and hoped. 

/

Wasp did his research. Of course he did, he wasn't in a position where he could just admit to having a problem that might not even exist. A fairy tale. 

It did exist. A rare technoorganic condition that only afflicted .6% of the modern population; something called the flower sickness. It could be triggered by intense emotion, often of a romantic nature. The knowledge made Wasp _furious._

It had to be him who had to contract a bullshit disease like this. Had to be Wasp. Surely it was because of his frame, minibots were always the mechanisms that were more susceptible to code-altering diseases. It just had to happen to him. 

Of course he knew what was causing it. He wasn't that oblivious.

He was fond of Ironhide. Very fond, but that was never a secret. It wasn't something Wasp needed to address, it wasn't as if that was important. Mechanisms had feelings all the time. Why was he being punished for it?

Why couldn’t he, just like any other mechanism on this planet, figure things out slowly and make mistakes and fall naturally into a relationship with his longtime friend _without_ the pressure of some debilitating disease that would kill him if his feelings weren’t returned?

Why couldn’t he have it fucking easy for once?

It seemed that the universe was intent on fighting him one way or another; from being wrongfully accused of being a Decepticon, to contracting an extremely rare condition. 

Wasp was angry. He knew he had every right to be. 

Ironhide was over at his place today, this wasn't uncommon. They've done this countless times before. Ironhide had brought over some high grade, an indulgence they both regularly took part in. Surely, Wasp would be okay. He was aware of his condition now, if the flower sickness was what he had. He was most definitely aware of the possible symptoms. Experimentation was key, here. 

There were no diagnostic tests for the disease. If Wasp brought it up with the medic team, they might just laugh at him for believing in a myth. They might take him seriously. It was not a risk he was willing to take. 

All he had to do was to see if it happened again. 

So far, everything was familiar. It was their norm. The TV was on, they were semi-watching the races, they were on their third cube. They were talking about work, about colleagues.Nothing was out of place. 

Except for Wasp’s awareness of the urge that might just rise in him at any given moment. 

And it sucked, because he really did like Ironhide. Wasp had questionable feelings about different mechanisms all the time, none as straightforward as what he felt with Ironhide. The one easy relationship he had felt tainted. 

It always felt easy with Ironhide. They've known each other for so long. 

Was Wasp never meant to have relationships like these?

He belatedly realized that Ironhide had been calling his name, Wasp too lost in his own thoughts. 

"Mech, you okay? Where'd you go?" 

"Nowhere," Wasp said, downing the cube in his hand, "I was just thinking." 

An odd look from Ironhide, but he let it slide. Part of Wasp thought he should tell Ironhide something, at least the fact that he was ill if not the cause of said illness. But the thought made him feel a nausea of a different kind. 

He would rather die than have Ironhide pity him. 

Maybe he'd die before ever letting Ironhide know. 

He got through the rest of the day just fine, embittered by his own condition. The answer was to fall out of love, perhaps. He could try that. 

It was time for Ironhide to leave when he turned at the door towards Wasp. 

“Hey. You’ve been kinda weird, Wasp,” Ironhide’s grip shifted on the bag he was shouldering, the smallest tell of how tense Ironhide must feel, “You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah, of course. You’re not my creator, Ironhide.”

Ironhide gave him an unimpressed look, but smiled, a smile that Wasp was very familiar with, “I’m not. But I worry about ya, mech. Sometimes you get too deep in your thoughts and I never know what the frag you’re thinkin’, but if you ever need a sounding board, I’m always happy to be one.”

Wasp raised an orbital ridge at him, the way he always did when Ironhide was being unnecessarily cheesy. This was routine. This was something familiar. This was their usual back and forth, and they have done this a million times, if not more. 

“Fine, fine. Noted. See you when I see you.”

Ironhide’s smile widened, into that stupid grin he sported often with Wasp, the smile that made his optics cast blue light onto the plating of his cheeks. Ironhide gave him a two-fingered salute, “See ya when I see ya.”

Ironhide left.

Wasp’s tanks were _roiling_. 

He dashed towards his washracks, and gripped the rim of his sink, shoulders hunched over to brace himself.

Wasp loved him. Wasp _loved_ him. 

He was angry, he was crying. He was _vomiting_ , and he watched the flower slip out of his mouth; practically a purple tree; scraping against his oral intake in a way that made his plating crawl all over. 

He spat it into his sink, and panted, the anger clouding his processor. 

If he looked at it carefully, the flowers were beautiful. It was made up out of smaller flowers, its petals split into four, and if it didn’t come out of him, Wasp would have marvelled over it.

Wasp punched his mirror. 

The glass splintered and smashed, and cut his hand up. There were shards of glass everywhere, but Wasp was so angry he couldn’t bring himself to care. Pink energon dripped onto the purple flowers, and it was all Wasp could see. 

This disease would kill him, and it was only because he had the audacity to fall in love with a mechanism. 

He didn't think he could just, stop loving Ironhide. How was love ever a good thing if it could do this to someone?

Why him?

/

It took a toll on his health. 

How couldn’t it? He was producing unknown flora from inside of him, a feat that was impossible. It was sapping his strength, however the pathophysiology worked, Wasp didn’t know. But it surely was killing him. 

He still showed up for work, of course. That wasn’t even a question. 

Every mechanism in the office knew that he had a particular affliction, not that anyone dared to question him on the details. 

He had a comm. Message from Perceptor. This was it, Wasp thought. The end of the line. The higher ups were going to order a medical examination on him, and realize that he was dying. They would either run experiments on him or keep him in observation till he died, and Wasp was not looking forward to either option. 

He had blocked Ironhide on his comm.link, as a measure of self-preservation. The only way he had been able to show up to work and carry out his duties as effectively as he had was by cutting off all communication with Ironhide. Sooner or later, Ironhide would seek him out for an explanation, and that would be the day when Wasp would keel over and die, probably. 

In his research, he had found a possible solution, something invasive but effective, with a 10% chance of fatality. This would end, if he went through with it. Everything would. 

Wasp found himself hesitating. 

The worst thing was that he couldn’t even bear being physically close to Ironhide anymore. 

Even thinking about Ironhide sometimes sent him straight to the washracks, and at this rate, Wasp was going to lose his best friend. 

He was going to lose Ironhide. 

The thought of losing Ironhide made him think of why he didn't _want_ to lose Ironhide, and it was a vicious cycle of thought and reaction. 

Wasp was exhausted. 

But work continued. 

He held his own as much as he could, for as long as he was able. 

It was an eventuality that a higher up reached out to him, Wasp couldn't tell if someone had reported his deterioriating condition or they could just tell that something was horribly wrong with him. It was Perceptor who had asked for a short meeting with him, and Wasp was never one to keep his superiors waiting.

He reported to Perceptor, decidedly _not_ thinking of Ironhide. This wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the place. He would _never_ purge in front of Perceptor. 

Wasp could still do his job, despite everything. He'd die trying.

Perceptor was in his office, servos tapping insistently on his consoles, and he stopped the moment Wasp was in front of him.

“Perceptor, sir. You called for me?”

"Wasp," Perceptor said, face devoid of any emotion as always, "How would you like to be Prime?"

The question was so sudden and straightforward that Wasp needed a moment to internally process it, but this had always been how Perceptor functioned. He had expected a reprimand, or a warning about his health.

Not this.

Wasp made a decision. 

/

“Are you sure?” the medic’s gaze slid from the scan of his torso to his face, and then back at the scan, “It’s extensive, Wasp. We could try medication, before we do anything drastic.”

Wasp looked at his scan, too. At the bloom of white in the shadowed, dark machinery of his chest, the foreign bodies solid and many. He could almost visualize them in his mind, the furled, pink petals ever growing and breaking off inside of him. 

As if summoned, Wasp turned his head and coughed, coughed hard enough that his entire frame rattled. He could feel the medics hovering around him, but he waved them away with a free hand. He coughed the obstruction out of his throat finally, spitting the flower into his palm. Wasp dropped it into the kidney basin next to him, already half-full from the pink flowers he had already thrown up, unsure if the pink was the flower pigment or his energon seeping through white petals. 

He couldn’t tell. 

"Just do it," Wasp said, raspy but determined, “Cut it out of me."

And so they did.

/

Ironhide wasn’t entirely sure what surgery Wasp went through. Wasp wouldn’t tell him. They were the closest of friends, but even Ironhide knew better than to push it with Wasp too much. Wasp was the kind of mech who felt suffocated if someone kept asking questions, and Ironhide was more than aware of it.

Ironhide knew how to keep himself on Wasp's good graces. It took time and steady observation of his friend, but they've been together long enough that Ironhide thought he knew Wasp like the back of his hand. If it was anything serious, Wasp would tell him.

He was sure Wasp would.

He hoped that Wasp would.

But aside from that, Wasp was fine. He was going to be Prime; Wasp’s _dream_ ever since they were cadets. And Ironhide was going to watch him be appointed Prime. He wondered if Wasp was going to take on a different name. He wondered if things would be the same. 

For some reason, it didn’t seem as if things had been the same for a while. 

“Ironhide?” 

He looked up from where he was sitting at the medic standing before him, and the medic’s smile was kind, “He’s ready to see you. He can’t speak too much, so I’m limiting your visit to 20 cycles, alright? At least for now.”

Did the surgery have something to do with his voice box? Ironhide didn’t know. Ironhide didn’t ask, “Okay."

It felt a little surreal, he hadn't ever seen Wasp look this small. All laid out on the medical berth, his optics a little dim. Vulnerable.

Wasp would kill Ironhide if he heard Ironhide's thoughts. That felt reassuring, somehow.

Ironhide approached the berth, and Wasp looked up at him, optics brightening. Ironhide took his hand on reflex, clutching it tight, “Hey, buddy. You doing okay?”

Wasp looked at their hands, clasped together. Hesitated, almost, and opened his mouth gingerly to speak, “I…”

Another moment of pause, and Wasp smiled at him, “I’m fine, Ironhide. Never been better.”

It was a relief to hear. But there was something different about Wasp, now. Something Ironhide couldn’t really place. Their hands were still latched together and Ironhide belatedly realized how he had been holding Wasp, and pulled his hand away, “Ah, sorry mech. Wasn’t thinking.”

Wasp only blinked at the loss of contact, and then up at Ironhide, “It’s fine. It's all good."

He smiled. It was a sweet smile, but something was strange about it. Different.

...As long as Wasp was alright, Ironhide supposed it didn't matter.

" Okay," Ironhide pulled a nearby chair closer, sat himself next to the berth, "Tell me how you're feeling?"

Wasp told him, gesturing to the newly melded plating in his chest, and Ironhide listened raptly, taking in the state of his best friend. He spoke airily, an ease to his tone. It was a little different, but not a bad kind of different, Ironhide thought.

The surgery wasn't even about anything too serious, probably, but Ironhide was definitely anxious when his colleagues told him that Wasp was on medical leave. The idea that something severe had happened to Wasp was terrifying. The thought of not being able to spend time with Wasp again was unbearable.

Ironhide was grateful that everything was fine.

Wasp was his best friend, after all. Ironhide really cared for him. 

Ironhide loved him. 

...He loved Wasp.

He wondered if Wasp knew.

**Author's Note:**

> flowers and their meanings, in order of appearance:   
> blackeyed susan; justice  
> hyacinth; playfulness, rashness  
> purple lilac; first emotion of love  
> peony; shame, bashful anger


End file.
